


Talks like a Gentleman

by LunarC



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl doesn't like Jesus, Daryl's PoV, Drabbles, Love/Hate, M/M, Slow Build, Spoilers, Violence, suffocation, the fic you write on the way to hell, written as episodes are released
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:59:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarC/pseuds/LunarC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self proclaimed Jesus manages to escape Daryl's watch by getting the drop on him. Daryl holds a very powerful grudge which borders on obsession. The two circle one another as the world around them changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd write a fic featuring Jesus but here we are.  
> I am writing this purely for my own sick satisfaction.  
> Please do not take this one too seriously haha!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

This guy, Jesus, whatever, he was ‘asleep’ or somethin’ like going on 3 hours. Daryl knew, he’d been watching the door.

Normally he wouldn’t have expected anyone to be able to escape the Alexandrian version of a prison cell but this asshole was wiley and he trusted him as far as he could throw him (which wasn’t very far, guy squirmed like a damn weasel). 

So Daryl sat, just outside of his cell, smoking and watching, waiting, for when the guy made a move. 

At the end of the first hour he heard movement from inside. His smoke was long gone and he held his breath, listening, gun tucked down the back of his pants and knife clasped firmly in his good hand.

He missed his bow.

There was some struggling, a few grunts, then quiet. A couple of minutes later Daryl heard the definitive sound of metal hitting the floor (his cuffs, Daryl imagined) and a sigh. 

Daryl stood up, silent as he could and pressed his back to the wall beside the door. 

Few seconds later the asshole poked his head out into the door way, looking left. 

Daryl had his gun to the back of his head before he could look right.

“Don’t move.” He growled.

Jesus twitched, casting a glance over his shoulder. It was dark now, but Daryl’s eyes were accustomed to the low light and he pressed the barrel of his gun into the center of his back.

“Put your hands up.”

“Now let’s talk about this-“

“Put your hands up. Now.” Daryl ordered.

Jesus slowly raised his hands over his head, then spun, so fast Daryl barely had time to react before the man was wrestling him for the gun. Now Daryl was no push over but this man grabbed him by his forearm, applying pressure just so to a bunch of nerves there and making him drop the gun.

Daryl went for it at the same time he did, their heads smashed together. Daryl recovered first but Jesus jumped him, they rolled. 

Daryl got the gun and went to turn, but the tricky stranger grabbed his gun arm, twisting him into a head lock with Daryl’s knife in his left hand pressed against an artery throbbing in Daryl’s neck.

“Drop it.” He breathed and Daryl tried to break the lock he was in. Jesus pushed against his neck. “Drop it, I’m serious.”

The hunter panted, grappled into an uncomfortable arch on his knees, the sharpened edge of his own hunting knife only the tiniest bit of pressure away from splitting his skin. 

Daryl gently dropped the loaded gun by his side. He considered head butting the man but couldn’t do it safely with that knife pressed against him. 

“Good choice.” Jesus said, a little out of breath. 

“Fuck you.” Daryl spat.

“Maybe later.” The stranger replied and Daryl snapped, outraged, the knife nicked him as he slammed his head back into the other man’s chin. 

Jesus actually dropped the knife in favor of locking his arm over Daryl’s wind pipe. Daryl reached back, desperate, grabbing fist fulls of the man’s hair and pulling as hard as he could.

Jesus cried out but didn’t release him. 

Daryl let go of his hair and tried to pry off his arms but he was stronger than he looked and his arms were locked. Daryl reached back again, ripping out a portion of the man’s hair (with a satisfying string of swears as a response) and attempted to gouge his eyes.

“Stop, just stop!” Jesus gasped and Daryl was too short of breath to reply. He kicked his legs out from under him, pushing backward and crushing the other man with his weight. Driving his elbows into his sides. Jesus winced with every blow. “Fuck-man-stop!”

But Daryl wasn’t one to go down easy. He pushed with his legs and tried to throw the other, bucking and twisting. But this Jesus asshole was holding on for dear life, legs bracketed on either side to keep himself anchored as he suffocated Daryl.

Daryl twisted his hands into the hair of the other’s beard and pulled, his head throbbing, mouth opening and closing as he tried in vain to pull air into his lungs. Jesus hissed.

“Fuck you’re a hard-son of a bitch-“ He gasped.

Daryl lifted his hips off the ground and slammed them back down into the other’s crotch as hard as he could. 

The other man actually yelped, but his grip didn’t falter and Daryl’s vision was blacking out at the edges. He scratched the man’s arms, clawing at the skin he could find between the man’s gloves and his shirt. Drawing blood. 

“Just stay still!” Jesus wheezed and Daryl clung, desperately to consciousness for as long as he could before the lack of air forced his eyes to close and he went limp...


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl wanted him eating dirt.

He wanted him face down in a pile of mud, hair all shredded to bits, maybe a bit of blood. Broken bone? One or two, somethin’ small maybe.

But this fucker came out clean no matter what.

Could never trust the pretty ones, Merle had always said that. True of both sexes. Didn’t matter who or what you was a pretty face was trouble.

Daryl was glaring holes into the back of him the entire time they rode to his town. Didn’t take his eyes off him until he was well and gone. 

Some snotty religious whacko with some sticky fingers and clear eyes shows up and they all just fall in? Naw. Daryl didn’t trust him. Dude had almost shanked him on the floor of the ‘prison’ back home even if he didn’t tell the others about it.

Daryl didn’t like him, felt a deep distrust right down into his bones. Wondered what Carol would say about him.

Then those strangers turned on each other right there in the yard and Rick was drenched head to toe in blood, nothing new for them but he looked formidable. They were about to start a turf war when up stepped the Lord and savior himself to part the damn oceans or whatever.

He had this way of lookin’ at people. Daryl thought. Which made them believe him when he talked. 

Daryl wondered how much of what he said was lies and how much he actually meant because there had to be a catch. The pretty ones were always crazy.

“… I’m sorry.” Big eyes said and Daryl glanced up at him. They were riding in the back of the van, the others talking amongst themselves on the way back to Alexandria. Daryl had sat closest to the Holy man in case he tried something, keeping an eye on him.

“For what?” Daryl spat. He wasn’t interested.

“For what happened back at that house.” The Man Himself responded and Daryl snorted. “… I’m serious, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get violent like that.”

“Whatever.” Daryl said and the man bent his head, dumb ass hair bunching up at the shoulder. Man did his hair look that dumb? He’d have to cut it off. Couldn’t afford an affiliation.

“… I can’t figure you out, Daryl Dixon.” Self Proclaimed son of God said. Daryl sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. 

“Good.” Daryl replied and Jesus frowned.

“… I’d like to though.” The man offered and Daryl looked out the window, ignoring him. “… I think we’d be good friends-if you’d give me a chance.”

“We ain’t friends.” Daryl stated. “We ain’t even on the same side yet sure as I’m concerned.”

“We are.” The hippy wannabe said, conviction shining in his too-bright eyes. Daryl frowned at him. “Trust me.”

Not on your life. Daryl thought as the man sat back, smiling at him. Daryl wondered when the other shoe would drop and Rick would give the order.

He wanted him muddy. Hair ruined, eyes red.

Daryl covered his mouth, imagining the day when the perfect Son didn’t look quite so perfect...


End file.
